a hucklerobby fic in which dennis's positivity throws a jaded robby for a loop. tw for harassment on a medical professional by a drunk person. also harrassment on dennis by robby but that is more than consensual lol. like over 4k words, sorry, dudes.
It doesn’t take long for everyone to notice Dennis’s sunny disposition. He was happy to walk in at 6:30 most mornings, he was nice to Myrna no matter how many times she sexually harassed him, and he had a way of turning Dr. Robby’s mood around with just his proximity.
The last one was the most important to the functioning of the ER, however.
It wasn’t noticeable the first day, with everything that happened. Nobody had the bandwidth to even learn the new student’s first name. He had spent a couple of weeks being known as Bloodhound or Huckleberry before he had gained enough respect to be called by his last name by the nurses.
But pretty soon, everyone on the floor had learned that Whitaker was a favorite. Of Robby’s, that is. And Dana. And Santos. And McKay. And, ok, everybody liked the kid a lot after he’d stuck around long enough, but Robby liked him more than everyone else combined. He touched the kid more than everybody else combined, too.
When Robby had gotten chewed out by Gloria a week after Pittfest (the hero worship had died off, the sympathy had too), Robby had been on a war path. He was back to overcorrecting Mohan on her patient times. Santos was finally facing the cold shoulder she had been waiting for. Javadi’s status, which she insisted she didn’t want, couldn’t save her from the cutting critiques and overall lack of faith Robby had seemed to fall back to once everything had set in.
Robby was getting snippy with Dana the twentieth morning since Pittfest (just her second day back since the assault). Very out of character for him, and also, frankly, a very bad idea.
He placed his hands on the desk and sighed, “I can’t deal with it today. I just need everyone to be competent and quit piling shit back on my plate. I’m eating plenty of it upstairs, and I didn’t even get to brush my teeth after.”
“He’s your resident and your friend.” She looked up over her reading glasses. “I can’t believe you won’t even visit him. He’s more anxious about you being mad at him than his wife for Christ's sake.” Dana knew Robby was disappointed, betrayed on a level he probably had no right to feel, but he was better than this. Or at least he used to be.
Robby knew he was being callous. He knew what it was like to be powerless. He understood addiction more than he’d like to admit. But all that rationality he had clung to for so long had evaporated sometime between COVID and that day he’d rather not think about. He was different now, having resisted the change for so long. This place had made him darker.
Robby clenched his fists, something probably offensive to the woman who had gotten sucker punched recently, but again, his rationality had left him. “He’s probably anxious because he’s detoxing from benzos. That would be stressful for anybody. I’m anxious about how much paperwork I’m having to do about all the medication he’s stolen. So I would guess it’s kinda even.” His voice was terse and patronizing in a way he never let it be with Dana. He regretted it immediately. He always took shit too far.
“Robby, I’m going to tell you this once.” She was talking to him like an unruly patient. “If I hear you say something like that about anybody else here, I have a lot of stories about you that could get you relegated to a pencil puncher, no matter how necessary you are. I don’t relish reminding you of this, but you’re a fuck up too.”
Robby practically sighed in relief that someone was pushing back on him. He was out of control these past couple of days. Meaner than he had any right to be. Weaker too. He gave Dana a contrite look. Dana took pity on him and patted his clenched fist while putting her eyes back on the computer. She couldn’t waste time this early. Certainly not on a grouchy Robby. Especially when a certain MS4 was supposed to come in soon. Good thing Robby would have his favorite stress ball. Dana had heard some things about when she was gone.
Dennis had not been scheduled the last couple of days between his CAPSTONE and exams, but he was happy to be back. Emergency medicine had snuck up on him in the most peculiar of ways. He felt like his fucked up parts were finally compatible with somewhere.
Dennis walked in with Trinity, whistling a tune and practically tap dancing. He had stable housing, he did well on his presentation, and Trinity had bought him a donut that morning! He could have to change his scrubs five times today and not lose his smile. Trinity, on the other hand, looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards. Switching back to the day shift after a little on nights was rough on her.
The listless tune had a way of cutting through Robby’s malaise. It was hard to feel self-deprecating when sunshine embodied smiles at you. The older man turned away from the nurses' station to fully engage the younger man’s attention.
If Dana muttered “Predictable,” under her breath, well, Robby was suddenly in a good enough mood to let things go.
“Whitaker! Great to see you again. Glad you came back.” Robby felt himself smiling wide enough that his eyes crinkled.
Santos raised her eyebrow at her attending. “What am I? Chopped liver? I’ve been on nights the past week, and he gets the hero’s welcome?”
“Dr. Santos.” Less enthused was a nice way to put it. “I was getting to you. How were nights? Shen’s a great mentor.”
“It was good. I liked the pacing and level of supervision.” Robby was half-listening, half-watching Dennis. Santos, ever the pusher, added in, “He’s good at letting his resident actually practice instead of oscillating between cold and overbearing.”
Robby should probably be offended by whatever Santos just said, guessing from the put-out look Dennis was giving her, but he simply didn’t care. A snarky resident was the last of his priorities now that his favorite student was back. The kid was just so god damn chipper, it felt like he lit up the whole ER anytime he was scheduled. Everyone felt that way, Robby justified.
“Yeah! I’m glad you enjoyed nights so much. Of course, we’d miss you here on days, but residents are encouraged to find their own preferences.” Robby walked forward and turned Whitaker’s shoulder with his hand, pointing to a closed curtain. “Kid, you ever seen a partial degloving from a wedding ring? This is a great teaching moment.”
Santos watched as her attending squeezed her roommate's shoulder on the way to the examination room. That was annoying but also so interesting. She loved having something new to tease Whitaker about. It almost made up for Robby’s distaste for anybody besides him.
It wasn’t just the gossipy nurses (or Santos) that noticed. Whitaker wasn’t the oblivious farm boy he (sometimes) played as. He didn’t make it through three years of medical school and all his other rotations without knowing his strengths. People liked optimism and Dennis was naturally, oftentimes painfully, hopeful. And if Whitaker played up his aw shucks traits to keep people endeared, that was between him and the god he wasn’t sure was too fond of him.
Dennis was questioning what kind of cosmic punishment he was incurring every time Robby practically scruffed him in front of all his colleagues. It wasn’t even that it felt bad; it felt divine. Divine in a way Dennis knew was inappropriate. He was sure his Gen X, straight boss felt a little listless without his previous favorite and latched on to the nearest protégé willing to have an oddly codependent friendship with him, and Dennis was willing. Agreeable like always.
It was getting him some amazing cases and he’s pretty sure a 5/5 evaluation, but also the most confusing psychosexual thoughts of his life. And he was a gay boy raised by Baptists, so that bar was pretty high.
Dennis was hopeful he could get over it before internship interviews. He was hoping to stick around and he needed to have a clear head if he wanted to keep the community he was just now building.
The degloving was awesome in that nauseating way he’d come to realize he liked. He’d gotten to go over a couple of discharges and hadn’t had to code anyone yet. All in all, a pretty successful couple of hours for an accident magnet like Dennis. He should’ve known that was all the peace he was entitled to.
Within an hour, there was an arterial spray he had barely managed to dodge, a TBI that Dennis had no idea how someone could come back from fully functional, and the patient who mixed their sleeping medication with alcohol “accidentally” was more alert but still delirious. A terrible combination.
She kept calling him cute as a button. Saying he reminded her of her daughter’s boyfriend. Which wouldn’t be all that weird if it wasn’t accompanied by the attempts to reach out and touch his arm, and face, and…ass.
Dennis had been able to shrink away from them in time. He was adept at staying just the right amount out of her admittedly poor reach. She wasn’t threatening in a real physical way so he was sure he could just monitor, record, and then move on before anything went too poorly. Besides, everyone was just so busy and he couldn’t drag a resident over just because he felt a little uncomfortable. He would keep the curtain a touch more open than he usually would, though. He didn’t want her to feel like he was giving them privacy.
“So, Ma’am, we gave you fluids-“
“Ohhh, don’t call me that, honey,” she slurred, “makes me feel old. I’m not much older than you!” She laughed too loudly for the setting and it made the student flinch internally. Also, this lady was older than him. Older than Robby even, and Robby was inappropriately older than him.
“Ok…Miss, we gave you fluids to help flush out your system. You should be through the worst of it. I’m going to remind you that your sleeping medication is contraindicated with alcohol, so you need to make sure not to combine them.” This was the part Dennis was dreading. Everyone who came in drunk to the ER got the talk and they never responded well. “While the effects are wearing off in this next little bit, I’m going to page our social worker, Kiara. She is going to talk to you about your drinking and medication use, just as a precaution, and she can point you to any resources that may help you. Do you understand?”
“What do you mean?” The anger made her words sharper but not any less drunk. “I don’t need a talk from some social worker. That’s for hobos and-and kids. Fuck you.” The last words were almost as loud as her laugh. Jesus Christ, Whitaker could never just catch a break.
“I know, but it’s just policy, Ma’am. If you could please quiet-“
“Shut up! If you’re not going to listen to me, get the fuck out. I don’t even want your gay little ass anyway.” Dennis had inadvertently stepped closer when he was lowering his voice, hoping to coax to volume down. He mistakenly got in her reach and she backhanded him in an attempt to push him out.
Robby was leaving the family room, informing the young guy’s girlfriend of next steps. Neurology consults, surgery, physical and occupational therapy, if he even makes it. How it may never be the same. More than likely won’t. Apparently, he was going to propose soon. He probably wouldn’t have the bilateral function to hold a ring box. Robby banished the thought from his mind.
He was going to go check on chairs with Dana when he heard a commotion. The drunken and disorderly in Bay 2 was louder than it ought to be. His attending senses were tingling.
Robby caught the tail end of the insult and the sound of skin hitting skin. He sped to the partially open curtain and caught Whitaker trying to restrain a woman’s wild hands. His cheek was cut from either her gaudy rings or her long nails. He barely even noticed someone came in until he was having help holding her hand down.
“A little help in here?” Robby called. A couple of people came in to hold the rest of her limbs. “Whitaker, we’ve got her handled. Go to the nurses' station.”
Whitaker almost argued, he could stay through the restraint and sedation. He was sometimes a little too trusting, but he wasn’t naive or a child. Robby looked at him, as if able to anticipate his feelings. Maybe he could. Dennis let that look eclipse any denials he had. He left the bay to go find Dana. Blood drawn meant a specific form.
Dana looked away from her computer and saw the sorriest sight. “Oh, Honey! Come here.” The hug was patronizing but appreciated. His mom was so far away and Trinity wasn’t exactly doting. “What happened?”
“Um, Bay 2 got mad about something and hit me and I think one of the rings caught me weird. It doesn’t even hurt.” His laugh was brittle. “She’s really confused. I don’t think she meant it.” He was looking down at his reflection in his phone now. He hoped it didn’t scar.
Dana clicked her tongue before deciding to ignore the excuses. Poor boy was jerked around enough today and it was hardly 2 o’clock. “Let me clean it up and put some butterfly bandages on it. It’ll close right up.”
“Thanks,” he said sheepishly. “I can fill out the form at home. I have a couple of patients I’m supposed to be monitoring and they all have labs that are coming back soon.”
Dennis felt a big hand on the back of his neck and he flinched but relaxed when he smelled Robby’s cologne. Or aftershave. Or whatever it is that Robby put on himself to smell like the man of his dreams.
Robby laughed, “It’s funny how you think you’re still on the floor. I’m going to do an examination, you’re going to fill out that form sitting down.” Dennis took a breath to interrupt, but Robby did that squeezing thing that halted thoughts. “Then, if I’m feeling generous, I’ll let you stay until the end of your shift after you have a meeting with employee services.”
Dana was a passive observer. She could handle slapping on a few stickers and wiping the kid's face, but if the senior attending would rather do basic first aid, she would let him. Dennis was wide-eyed and his mouth was still open for that sentence he never got off the tips of his tongue. It would be cute if Dana wasn’t repulsed by the old man Robby of it all. This was so much worse than him and Collin’s when he was a resident. But also so much more entertaining.
“Sir, I’m not gravely wounded or anything! I can just take care of this in the bathroom if I have to. You don’t need to bench me for however long that is.”
God don’t call me sir, Robby thought. He squeezed Dennis’s shoulder this time. Stop thinking about Whitaker taking care of himself in the bathroom. The kid phrased things in the most naive way sometimes.
Dennis tried to turn his head, but Robby was standing just behind him, orbiting, protecting.
“Get up, I’ll meet you in Examination 3, I’ll be quick.”
Chagrinned, Dennis left. The entire nurses' station just watched him be put in time-out. He hopes the trauma of being hit makes them go easy on him. Probably won’t.
Dana was trying to look at Robby in a neutral way. It annoyed him.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. Just that when I was punched, you didn’t react this strongly.”
“Come on! I did.”
“I’m not jealous or anything. Lord knows I don’t need your hovering. I’m just pointing out that you’re all moony for the kid.” She looked back at her computer, feigning disinterest.
Robby scoffed. It rang false. “I’m not moony for the kid, whatever that means. I’m concerned as a boss for a subordinate.” He crossed his arms, shielding himself from the insinuation.
“I’m sure you’d love him to be subordinate to you or whatever it is, just don’t bring it up with me.”
Robby had no response to that. And Dennis was waiting. He left the nurses' station, praying they were all dutifully charting the way they looked like they were.
Dennis was on the examination table, kicking his feet and humming. Assault couldn’t even bring down his mood. What’s this kid's problem?
“Come on, let me look at your face.” Robby sanitized his hands and grabbed his chin while stepping in closer than he had to. Usually, he would make sure to angle his body to the side for an examination like this, but something made him press forward between Whittaker’s legs.
Dennis was in heaven…or hell. Maybe purgatory, but he doesn’t even believe in that. He was somewhere he’s certainly thought a lot about. He was damn near under Robby, the way the larger man was looming over him.
Robby took his ungloved hand and skimmed the younger man’s cheek. Dennis probably didn’t need a thorough exam like this, but it assuaged Robby’s nerves.
After letting go of his cheek, Robby stayed between Dennis’s legs. He put both hands on Dennis’s knees to keep them apart. This had to be sexual harassment at this point, Dennis thought. It’s a good thing he doesn’t mind.
Robby was doing that intense eye contact thing he did. “Ok, I think you can get away with some butterfly bandages.” Robby was still making no moves to leave. He started squeezing Dennis’s knees like he wanted to massage him for his troubles.
“That’s what Dana said.” Dennis gave a pointed look. It was less effective at this proximity somehow.
“She’s a smart lady.”
“Then why did you not trust her assessment?”
“Policy states that any employee injury bad enough to report mandates an examination by a physician.”
“Not the senior attending during a rush. What is this Robby?” Dennis looked more put off by Robby’s conduct than getting bitch slapped. “I know I seem a little helpless. Fuck, Trin calls me Wet Cat Whitaker, but I’ve taken hits before. I don’t need any special treatment or kid gloves. I’m a capable student.” Dennis's big eyes were looking up at him in the sad cat way. Jeez, Dr. Santos was right.
“I never meant to imply you weren’t!” Robby should probably take his hands off the kid's legs if it upsets him like this. Probably. “I just-I’ll work better if I know you’re ok, so just humor me a little.”
Robby looked embarrassed. Chagrinned.
“You don't need to fix anything for me. I got through med school and all my other rotations without you looking out for me.” Dennis was getting mad at the perception that he was weaker than anyone else on the floor. He had worked hard to get here. He had slept in bus terminals with a box cutter under his jacket he was using as a pillow, he left his family and religion, he chose to be completely alone for just the chance at his dream. He could handle some wine mom without Robby’s help. Of course, he couldn’t say all that. That wasn’t very glass-half-full of him.
Robby sighed for the hundredth time that week and took a step back. He swiped his hands over his face. He never meant to offend Whitaker. “I’m not trying to fix anything for you. This has more to do with me than anything to do with you.” The admission stopped Dennis in his tracks. He was prepared to defend his skills, his choices.
“What about me is different from the rest of the department?” His voice was louder than it should have been in a non-emergency.
“Because you’re you!” Robby blurted out, turning around to face the door. He couldn’t look at the kid he was about to implode his career for but he didn’t want to gaslight him. He had correctly perceived Robby’s special treatment of him and did not deserve to question his instincts when Robby was the one crossing lines. “I’m sorry, I appear to have...lost my impartiality with you. I have developed an inappropriate attachment and it’s affecting my judgement. I will recuse myself from your evaluations and will fully support you reporting me.”
“What? What does that mean?”
Robby continued on, trying to use words and phrases he’d heard Gloria use. He’d never seen Gloria rub at her face the way he was right now, though. “I understand if you no longer feel comfortable working with me. I can switch to the opposite shifts from you until this rotation is over. I’m sorry to have done this to you and I hope it doesn’t change how you feel about emergency medicine because you are very capable and any ED would be lucky to have you.”
“Whoa, what do you mean by switching shifts? I’m not really mad at you!” He was just so nice. And Robby ruins any nice thing he gets.
Robby faced Dennis to get one last good look at him. He was going to have to avoid him after this embarrassing confession. He was a pervy old man who took advantage of his status. The type of men that made him sick. Robby was sick.
“Dana says I’m moony over you.” He let out a dark chuckle. “She’s not wrong.” Robby should look away but he couldn’t help it. He was going to abuse his position one more time while he and Dennis were in a room alone without HR. Leering was certainly considered harassment, even if it was hard to prove. He had read that in a conflict management training.
“What does that even mean?” Dennis was more confused than he had ever been in his life.
“I…like you. More than your attending should.”
And, huh. Dennis should probably be weirded out, maybe even offended, but he just wasn’t. He had been crushing too. Which he probably should admit to because Robby was looking absolutely pathetic. He was wringing his hands now. Thinking he had ruined his life because he couldn’t take lying to Dennis.
Dennis smiled. But Dennis always smiled. It didn’t mean anything. This kid was nice, kind.
“That’s ok, Dr. Robby. I’m not uncomfortable. I promise.”
“No, don’t try to make me feel better about this. It’s wrong.”
“I like you too. More than a student should.”
“Really?” And, God, Robby should be put off at the reminder of their power dynamics but he was just elated to find out it seemed mutual. He’s still a perv, but less of one than he thought.
Dennis chuckled in that light way he did. It was practically a giggle. Trinity would’ve made one of her babysitter's club jokes if she were here. “Yes! I didn’t know this was even an option. But, yes.”
“Yeah?” Robby let himself feel hopeful in this ER for the first time since Pittfest. Maybe since the world shut down and changed forever. Finally, something not personally devastating would happen in one of these rooms.
“I mean, I didn’t expect you to do a grand confession like that, but I was hoping you would come around.” Dennis got up from the table, the paper crinkled as he did. “Moony?”
“Dana’s word, not mine.” He defended.
Dennis looked up and grinned even more at the look on Robby’s face. God, he was happy. And not in the false, eternally optimistic, fake it till you make it way. “Whatever you want to call it, I feel it too.”
Robby’s genuine smile was rare but so sweet. “I-I’m not going to kiss you for the first time in the ER, but after I have a chat with the boss lady, do you want to get coffee or something?” He was more nervous than he had to be but it was still a delicate situation.
“I’d really like that.”
And if Robby was in a better mood after basking in the light that was Whitaker, well, that wasn’t even unexpected anymore.
please like and comment. they encourage me a lot! thanks for reading my debut into this fandom lol. i feel like i'm still figuring out the voice/perspectives of the characters. i'm sorry for any glaring typos or errors (kinda). have a good night, y'all :)
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Well, this doesn’t come as much of a surprise. Nor could you even consider it a disappointment. An expectation might be a better word for it. You would be shocked if the evening ended any other way, really.
Upon entering your hive you find Lazali slumped over in the couch, propped up by his equally as passed out, and by the looks of it inebriated, moirail. The mess on the coffee table and the grating music from one of those ‘Guess the Song’ videos playing on the tv paint a very clear picture of the evening's events.
They made a night of it, of waiting for you. Damn meetings always run longer than they need to. The Empire has a funny way of getting a handful of the fleets best and brightest in a room and getting the least amount of work possible done. Everyone had to prove they were the smartest, they got the most done, they knew what was best for the Empire. Their plan was the best. The world's most irritating dick measuring contest.
Fuck, are you the only one with a life off of their ship or what?
The noise prattling off of the tv becomes annoying enough that it breaks you from your thoughts and you turn it off, this action stirs Leoisi from her slumber.
Only marginally.
“Hey..” Her protest bubbles up with a hiccup. She didn’t even bother to open her eyes. “I was guessing the song.”
“Mhm?” You feel yourself smile. “What song was it, Lucy?”
“Uhh..” She blinks her eyes open to look up at you, then she decides that the world is too bright and she screws them shut instead. “I forgot.”
“I didn’t know it either.”
Your admission elicits one quick bark of laughter from her. She was a delight to have around in the end after all, wasn’t she? It was nice knowing Lazali had someone to kill the time with when you weren’t around, beyond his flings.
You take a moment to admire the two of them, Laz tucked into Lucys side. She’d taken the silence as an opportunity to gently stroke her thumb over your sleeping mates face.
It’s a good thing you gave her a shot when they first started out, huh?
“Alright, Luce. Up we get.” You don’t give her much time to protest, honestly, they’re both already in your arms before you’ve finished the sentence.
Immediately, Laz snuggles into you, Lucy begins her futile attempts at pushing against your chest.
“Nooo, not this time big guy. I’m going home.” She whines as she shows you what for, she’s really putting you in your place. You have to admire her tenacity. “I can get home fine.”
“I think you will not make it to the front door without making friends with the ceramic tiling. Also, it is nearly dawn.”
Leoisi opens her eyes again, so that you can experience the full extent of her pout, only to find that you are already making yourself comfortable in the bed. She didn’t even realize you were already in the room, that she lost before the fight began.
So instead, she huffs and buries her face into your shoulder.
“We’re making crepes tomorrow.” Her attempt at an ultimatum makes you laugh, though it is mostly stifled for Lazalis sake. The tenacity.
“We’ll see.”
“With fresh fruit!”
“Sleep tight, Luce.”
She huffs again, her face still buried into your shoulder. With a few moments of silence, she is out like a light again as signified by some seriously gentle snores.
Usually, her protests last longer than that. Another easy win for the Basilisk, you suppose.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
"I have posed this truth before and received my share of sideways glances. How could a human - unevolved, soft, full of graciously undrunk fluids - even pretend to drain a vampire’s infinite power?
It’s simple: the parasite has never been the more powerful creature. Its effectiveness is in being small, overlooked; it is able to slip in unnoticed, and take what it wishes.”
---
During a typical day's chores, Guillermo reflects on his changing place among the vampires.
Also included: a vampire-penned essay about the ethics of the humble human familiar.
I am SO late but finally finished my fic for the @wwditsevents exchange. Written for crowcoon, who I hope enjoys it!
Prompts used for this fill: "Ghengis Khan" by Miike Snow and "Tsirkus" by Fix (specific lyric named was "this whole circus would fall apart without me"), along with crowcoon's interests in meta, libraries, and fake academic texts.
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yuri’s thoughts after he finishes his wttm exhibition skate
~
he’s not even off the ice yet and he can already hear yakov’s scolding rant and see lilia’s disappointed frown for not sticking to his original exhibition skate.
but quite frankly? he doesn’t care.
this has been the first time he’s truly felt alive on the ice, truly felt at home and in his own skin and not like he was playing a role dictated by those around him. and he finally understands why victor insisted on choreographing for himself as soon as he was able to.
he looks at otabek, the friend he’s made just days ago and without whom he’d never had been able to feel like this, and gives him a quick thumbs up. he gets one in return and he can’t help the stupidly giant grin that spreads on his face.
he’s won the grand prix final on his senior debut, he broke a world record, he convinced his rival to keep skating, keep competing, he made a new friend and they made an awesome as fuck exhibition skate together.
he doesn’t know if he’ll ever feel happier than in this moment.
he doesn’t know if it’s possible, but he sure as hell hopes it is.
It was safe to say that Stiles had, as the saying went, gone done fucked up.
How?
Oh. Easy.
At work, he was busy editing another one of Eddie's crappy articles like always. (Seriously, why did they keep this clown on? He wrote in text talk through the entire article, for crying out loud!) Minding his own business for once. And then Lawrence, headache inducing Lawrence, slid onto his desk. Nearly knocked everything to the floor, earning a murderous scowl from Stiles. Instead of backing away and hopping off the desk like a normal person would, the douche had the audacity to ask if Stiles had a date to bring to the upcoming party.
Now, Stiles was far more interested in pack activities. He usually avoided work parties like the plague. Most of the time not on purpose. There were actual pack shenanigans going on during those parties. Even then, he never paid any attention in the first place when these party announcements were made.
So, of course, Stiles had no idea about this one, either.
Unfortunately, this sent Lawrence on a ramble about the party. Who knew that the Beacon Hills Monthly had parties for...nothing in particular? Not Stiles! Prior to this encounter with Lawrence. Who was currently giving him a borderline migraine.
After Lawrence was done signing praises to this party, he asked again if Stiles had a date.
Then proceeded to ask that if Stiles didn't have a date, if he'd be interested in being his date.
Now normally, Stiles would have a witty, sarcastic comment he would shoot out that would put Lawrence in his place. Shut the guy up for a week. Or tell him that he had family things going on. Only he knew there wasn't any pack gathering the day of the party to save his hide. Witty, sarcastic comment it was!
Heh, well, that wasn't what happened.
This time, Stiles blurted out something utterly stupid.
“Thanks for the offer, but I'll be coming with my boyfriend.”
It was a beat too late before he realized what he had said. He had to tamper down his horror as Headache Lawrence begrudgingly congratulated him. Followed by telling the entire building that Stiles had a boyfriend.
And then, and then, Georgina came up to Stiles, gushing and sounding so excited that her favorite had a boyfriend. She just couldn't wait to meet the man that had won her Stiles' heart! Give the man cookies and kisses on the cheek! Because Stiles was like a grandson to her, and this mysterious boyfriend would become like her second grandson!
This was when Stiles knew he had fucked up.
Royally.
“What am I going to do?!” he wailed upon arriving at his apartment and telling Scott on the phone the story. “The whole damn building thinks I have a boyfriend! They're gonna expect me to bring one to this stupid party! Georgina wants to give the guy cookies and kisses on the cheek!”
Scott hissed, probably wincing on his end. “Yeah...you messed up. Bad.”
“I know! What do I do!?”
“Get someone to pretend to be your boyfriend?”
“Pfft! Like who? You're married, and as much as I love you bro, I'm not gonna pretend that I'm boning you.”
“Thanks for that imagery...”
“Boyd in on his honeymoon with Erica. Isaac is occupied with a whole hell of a lot of things, so I'm not asking him. Jackson sure as hell won't do it, and that's just fine by me 'cause nooooo thank you. Liam can't act or lie worth shit. And I love Corey and Mason, and they may be the best candidates, but I know they are still shaken over the whole kidnapping thing, so I'm gonna leave them out of this.”
“What about Derek?”
Stiles sputtered, nearly dropping his phone. “H-huh?”
“What about Derek? He could do it.”
“I-I don't think he would, Scotty. And I kinda don't want to ask him to.”
“Because you have a ridiculous crush on him?”
“I thought we vowed to never speak of that? Besides...we may be pretty good pals now...but it took a long time for it to happen, and the guy has a bad track record of people using him, and I think this might count as one of those. I don't want to break his trust, y'know? Make him feel used.”
“How would this make him feel used?”
Stiles loved Scott. Loved him like a brother. He really did. But...sometimes...
“Just ask him. If he says no, then pretend you're sick on the day of the party.”
He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “That might be what I have to do.”
“After you ask Derek.”
“Can't I just skip that part?”
“Ask him, Stiles.”
Scott hung up, leaving Stiles no chance to continue his weak whining. With another sigh, Stiles plopped down on the couch, staring at his phone screen. This was going to be so much fun. Mostly because he figured that doing this face-to-face would be the best way to go.
Hopefully this wouldn't boot him out of the pack.
If it did, he was going to kick Scott's ass.
He sent a quick text to Derek, asking him to come over for a chat. Surprisingly, the dude replied back instantly, asking if now was good. Stiles half hoped Derek hadn't replied. If he hadn't, then Stiles wouldn't have to do this. He responded back that now was fine, and nearly had a hernia when the wolf said he'd be there in five.
Welp...this was going to suck all the balls.
All. The. Balls.
~+~
Stiles expected Derek to be pissed as hell when he word vomited his predicament. He expected Derek to be livid when he asked if he would pretend to be his boyfriend for the party. But...
“Sure.”
Huh. That was unexpected.
“Wait...really?”
The wolf shrugged, arms folded. “Yeah. This Lawrence guy sounds like a pain in the ass.”
“He is. Dude has no idea that when I say I'm not interested, that it means I'm not interested.”
Derek nodded, wrinkling his nose in annoyance. “Hmmm. Need to learn.”
“You're not going to rip his throat out with your teeth.”
“Fun sucker.”
If it had been years ago, back when he was sixteen, Stiles would've gone ape shit over Derek freakin' Hale saying something remotely funny. But, alas, they had known each other for some time now. Derek actually had an amazing, dry, sarcastic sense of humor. One that Stiles could appreciate whole heartily.
“Lawrence aside...Georgina sounds like a lovely lady.”
Stiles snickered, shaking his head. “Oh, she is. Very grandma-like. Cheek pinching and all.”
“I hope you mean my face.”
“Eh. It's a fifty-fifty deal with her.”
Derek gave him the 'what the hell' face before mumbling, “Nevermind...”
“Anyway...” Stiles rocked on the balls of his feet, still anxious about all of this. “We should talk about boundaries. What you're comfortable with and what you're not comfortable with. That kind of stuff.”
Again, Derek shrugged. Appearing completely unfazed by any of this. “Whatever you're okay with doing is fine.”
“No no no no no. That's not how this works!”
He approached the other male, gripping at his shoulder tightly and giving him a highly serious stare. This was the hundredth time Stiles had this type of conversation with Derek. Maybe was beyond the hundredth. He was a little surprised he still needed to tell Derek these kind of things. Then again...with Derek's history...
“I'm putting you in this sort of awkward position. Which you can totally back out of any time you want. And since it will most definitely be awkward, I need to know what I can and can't do. I don't want to make this any worse for you than it will be.”
With an eye roll, Derek took Stiles' wrist, removing it from his shoulder but still held onto it. “You're not putting me in a sort of awkward position. I'm offering to save your ass. But, if you're so keen on making boundaries...don't smack or pinch my ass. Don't talk about me like I'm a slab of meat. If we kiss, you can't give me tongue. You can't call me sweetie or sweetheart or baby.”
There was a pause. Stiles waited for Derek to add more to the Do Not Do List . Never happened. He blinked in confusion, tilting his head to the side. Derek followed suit.
“That's it?”
“Yes?”
“Oh. I, uh...expected more.”
“I know. But that's it.”
“So...I can hold your hand?”
“Yes.”
“I can kinda snuggle up next to you?”
“Yes.”
“Can I kiss your cheek? I won't put you on the spot with the lip kissing.”
“I'm fine with either. Just no tongue.”
Stiles nodded eagerly, a swoosh of relief hitting him. “Done. Deal. No problem. I'm totally cool with all of those rules. I really don't have any. I'm kinda on the same boat with you. But! But but...you can one hundred percent call me honey. Or...uh...Mischief.”
There weren't questions asked. Yes, a brow raised, but nothing verbal. The wolf licked his lips, nodding.
“All right. When is this party?”
“Uh, Saturday. Not this Saturday! Next Saturday.”
“Mmm. Plenty of time to practice.”
“Yep. Plenty of time to – wait. Practice?”
A sigh. “Yes, Stiles. If you want to convince these people, specifically Lawrence, that we are dating...we need to practice.”
Stiles flailed his arms, skin flushing. “B-b-but why?! We know practically everything there is to know about each other!”
“They will question if we aren't acting like we're affectionate in some way. Lawrence may keep bugging you if he thinks there is trouble in paradise.”
Ah. Good point. Excellent point. Derek was such a smart cookie. A smart cookie who was going to make Stiles kill over. Fake affection or not.
This was going to be an interesting week. Maybe even a little fun.
If Stiles didn't die from it.
~+~
Thank god the night of the party came by swiftly. Stiles was certain he was going to have a heart attack with all the affection Derek and he had been practicing. It was certainly not curing his not so small crush on the man. In fact...it was making it a million times worse.
At least it would be fun while it lasted...
Stiles picked up Derek an hour before the party was to start, wanting to get them to it quick so that they could leave quicker. And what does that bastard do? Dress in Stiles' favorite pair of jeans – the ones that fit tightly over that ass – and wear that damned maroon sweater with the thumb holes. The thumb holes!
This was it. This was how he died.
Derek briefly commented on how nice Stiles looked, which did not help matters. And it was made worse when Derek mentioned he had always thought that the simple black t-shirt and maroon skinny jeans looked perfect on him.
Yep. Death. Death was upon him. Maybe not swiftly, but it was upon him!
When they arrived at the party, a few people were there. (Not Lawrence or Georgina, though.) They were gawking at the man Stiles was holding hands with upon entrance. Gawked more when Derek introduced himself with the most genuine, sweetest voice Stiles had ever heard. And he was smiling. Actually smiling.
Lord...give him strength...
Upon Georgina's arrival, which was done loud and spectacularly, she spotted Stiles and Derek instantly. She flocked right on over, suffocating them with hugs and peppered kisses. She bombarded them with questions – the same ones she had been asking Stiles all week. While Stiles stuttered a little, a bit overwhelmed, Derek handled it like a bonafide pro.
“We met when he was sixteen. He was trespassing on my family's old property.”
“Yes! He is such a blanket hog!”
“He introduced me to his mom first. It was a little easier since I, uh, wasn't on good terms with his dad at the time.”
“Mmmm. Yes. He does all the cooking. I'm the baker.”
“No no! You're fine! I'm actually working on trying to regain my family's property. I'm thinking of rebuilding the house. We have a lot of gatherings with our friends and their families, so a bigger place would definitely be the best thing for us.”
It was dizzying trying to keep up. At the same time...it was...nice to see Derek open up like this. He really wasn't telling much lies. Most of it was truthful. Of course the supernatural was left out of it, and most of the lies were about the romance part of their relationship. Other than that, Derek was very honest and sincere and smiling the entire time he spoke with Georgina.
This was just adding to the non helpful things this was doing to Stiles' crushing.
Then...Lawrence showed up.
The very second he saw Derek and Stiles, his face soured. He came up to them, introducing himself to Derek, and, for some reason, was sizing up the werewolf. It was close to impossible for Stiles to hold back a snarky comment.
Not so much for Derek.
“Are you checking me out?” he scoffed. “I'm sorry, sir, but I'm happily taken by this tall drink of water right here.”
Then, then then...Derek decided it would be a great idea to kiss Stiles on the temple.
The hole punches on his Lord, Give Me Strength card was all punched out.
Almost passed out from the rush of adrenaline he suddenly gained.
Lawrence swallowed, eye twitching and face straining to contain a horribly fake smile. “And what a drink of water he is.”
“Isn't he?!” Derek said in a sweet, giddy, close to high pitched voice. “God, I'm surprised no one has tried to take him away. I mean, it was a problem in the past. A huge problem. 'Course, it happens to me, too. I guess we're both irresistible.”
It took everything in Stiles' power to not choke on laughter. It was clear that Derek was talking about Lawrence. Hinting that his advances weren't welcomed. Lawrence's eye twitched again, and his smile was faltering. So was Derek's.
Shit was about to go down.
Stiles could feel it.
The werewolf straightened his posture, showing his true height, and flared his nostrils. “Stiles tells me that you've been making unwanted advances towards him.”
Lawrence snorted, the fear in his eyes visible. “They weren't unwanted. He welcomed them full heartily.”
Brow raised. Jaw tightened. Oh no. Not that face. “Are you calling Stiles a liar?”
“I might be. He does make tall tales. Like how you two are dating.”
“Ah. Hate to break it to you, but we are. Have been for years. On and off.”
“Oh. On and off, huh?”
Derek crossed his arms, puffing his chest out. Had that infamous glare on. “You make it sound like you have a chance with him. Well, hate to break this to you as well, but you don't.”
“Oh, I do already. I mean, we did share a nice kiss last week. It was pretty X-Rated.”
Okay. Stiles had to step in. Or else Derek was going to strangle this bozo.
He got in front of Derek, an arm left behind him so that he could press against Derek's chest. He gave Lawrence the dirtiest look he could muster, curling his lip into a mock snarl. At this point, he could see from the corner of his eye that their coworkers were watching the show – hanging by every word, every action.
Frickin' nosy bodies.
“Lawrence, cut the shit. You're trying to puff yourself up like a peacock, and it is idiotic. Drop it. Accept that I'm not ever going to be interested in you. Move on. Quit being a creeper. I'm with Derek, and that's the end of it. Give it up. Especially since I can tell you're about to shit your pants.”
Lawrence, good ol' headache inducing Lawrence, laughed. Sort of maniacally. But it wasn't intimidating. It was just...weird. Super weird. Like he was trying to trick himself into being less scared. He then patted Stiles' shoulder, which made Derek lurch forward a smidge, and grinned.
“Oh, Stiles. I would. I honestly would. But you see...I don't believe you two are dating. And once I prove it, you'll owe me a date.”
“I won't owe you anything! So back the fuck off! You know something, Lawrence? I am so sick of your -”
Suddenly, Derek swooped Stiles off his feet, carrying him bridal style away from Lawrence. He took them over to where Georgina ran off to, where he set Stiles back down and sparked up a cheery conversation with her. Acting like nothing had happened between them and Lawrence.
Everyone else had as well.
Lawrence kept stealing glances at Stiles and Derek, which was unnerving. Each time Derek caught Lawrence doing that, he wrapped an arm around Stiles, pressing a kiss to his temple, and promising that he was safe. With each kiss – Stiles shuddered. He felt his knees go weak and his stomach swoop.
Derek was way too damn good with this pretending...
The rest of the night went off without a hitch. It was actually a fun party. Eventually, however, Stiles was getting worn out by being around this many people. Derek, too. They excused themselves and finally left to go back to their homes.
During the drive, Stiles struggled with words. He had to find the right ones that would ring gratitude. Because he was grateful for Derek doing this for him. Despite it being a little painful to think that those little kisses and other affectionate actions wouldn't happen between them again.
“Derek?” he finally said quietly.
“Mmm?”
“I...thanks. For doing this for me. And for helping me with Lawrence.”
“Anything for you.”
He chuckled nervously, turning into the parking lot for Derek's loft. “Yeah, well, you were pretty good at the whole fake boyfriend thing. Too bad Lawrence didn't seemed convinced. But the guy is known for feeding off of denial.”
Derek hummed, contemplating something.
It wasn't until Stiles parked that he said what was on his mind.
“You know...I think I'd be pretty good at being a real boyfriend. If you're interested.”
It was a very very good thing that Stiles was parked. Because he would've slammed on the brakes if he wasn't. He gaped at Derek with jaw hung open. He could not believe what he just heard. For a moment, he was certain that he heard wrong.
Judging by Derek's expectant expression, he hadn't heard wrong.
He flailed, hitting a hand on the roof of the Jeep. “You're – are you serious? Are you teasing me? Because if you are...it's not...it's not fun -”
Derek silenced him with a kiss. On the lips. It was soft, tender. Sucked the air right out of Stiles' lungs.
When it stopped, Stiles found himself chasing the taste. Chasing after someone he thought was unattainable. He felt a hand cupping his face, caressing it gently, cautiously, like it was scared to break him. Didn't have to open his eyes to know the look on Derek's face. Had seen it before. He just thought it was never for him.
“Want me to swing by on your next work day and take you to lunch?”
Stiles grinned wickedly, allowing himself to finally stare into Derek's gaze. “I didn't give you an answer.”
“Mmm...think I know that you're interested.”
“Hmph. Cocky ass.”
“Only when I know I'm right. So...about taking you to lunch the next time you work...”
“Make that a two or three times a week thing, lunch dates or you bring me lunch, rub it all over Lawrence's face, and you've got yourself a deal.”
Derek chuckled, daring to place a kiss on one of Stiles' eyes. “Deal.” He pressed a kiss on the corner of Stiles' mouth, smirking when his boyfriend (Real one! Not fake! Holy crap...) shuddered. “Want to stay over? Or should I stay over at your place?”
Stiles' heart did back flips. Spending the night already? They were moving so fast!
Then again...
“My pillow is in my room...”
“Mmmm...your place it is. And, uh, you have anything I can borrow?”
“Sweats? Maybe a double extra large shirt? Wait, we're right here! You could just run in and grab something!”
The werewolf shrugged, bobbling his head around as if he was playfully thinking about it. “I could. But I'd rather go to your place as soon as possible. It smells like you.”
“Awww! You like how I smell!”
“Well...yeah. You smell like honey spices and fresh oranges. It's pleasant. Soothing.”
Stiles teased him about that the entire drive to his apartment. Once they arrived, they got ready for bed and just...cuddled. Talked about date plans. Took guesses on how the pack was going to react. Discussed what days would be the days Derek would swing by Stiles' work to either drop off lunch or take him to lunch. Even tossed ideas back and forth on what the layout of the new Hale house should be.
It was nice.
It was different, yet the same.
It felt like this was how it was supposed to be. How it always had been.
It was the first night in years that Stiles slept through without waking once.
It was also the first time since his mom that he woke up to breakfast being brought to him in bed.
Stiles, already, may be just a little in love.
Okay...a lot in love. But one step at a time. He would have a perfect opportunity to say it eventually. Right now...right now he wanted to enjoy this. The true beginning of them.
And if he was having a blast gloating about his boyfriend making the best, goddamn chocolate chip pancakes he had ever tasted to every single person that would listen, that was okay. Because Derek made the best, goddamn chocolate chip pancakes he had ever tasted!
WARNING: Major character deaths, gore, violence, other deaths
It’s a very dark fic, or at least can be for some people. Read at own risk.
Based on this gifset
“Did you hear about the Hale Pack?”
“I didn't. Why? Did something happen?”
“Yeah. A few days ago they were ambushed. Rogue Hunters. Killed everyone but two of them.”
“Good god...that's awful! Who were the ones that survived?”
“The Alpha and the Emissary.”
“Oh no...”
“They were in pretty bad shape, last I heard.”
“How awful! Ah, those poor boys have already suffered enough. Now to be the only ones to survive the massacre of their Pack...they aren't going to be okay for a long time. If ever...”
“If I'm gonna be honest with you...I think they died the night the rest of their pack did...”
~+~
Stiles had woken up in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeps of machines, tubes in his nose, and a needle in his arm. He could barely move, head foggy and body numb. It felt like an hour before he could turn his head to the right.
Beside him, in a second bed, was Derek. The guy was out cold, a needle in his arm and tubes in his nose, too. There were also bloodied bandages wrapped around most of his body. He was barely recognizable. Stiles was only able to identify him by the hair, parts of the beard that weren't wrapped, and the black ring band that Stiles gave him.
“Der?” the Emissary croaked, voice ruined by lack of use.
It ached to speak. And it was apparent that Derek was too far deep asleep to hear him. So, Stiles quickly gave up on it. Instead, he moved onto the very thing circling in his mind: why were they there?
Last he remembered, the Pack was enjoying a peaceful day by the lake on their land.
Erica on the grill with Boyd beside her on the second grill. Scott and Isaac playing catch with lacrosse sticks. Lydia sunbathing. Kira and Cora splashing at each other in the water. Liam and Hayden playing chicken with Mason and Corey. Derek lying on the shore reading a book. Stiles frosting the cupcakes he had made. It was a normal Pack Gathering. A celebration for the engagement between the Alpha and the Emissary. Happiness and peace. Love. So much love. And after all the tragedy both Stiles and Derek had been through...
The happy image faded quickly. It morphed into a twisted, horrifying scene. An ambush. Rogue Hunters. Gunfire. Pain. Screams. Snarls. Roars.
Stiles began shaking, the beeping on his monitor speeding up. No. No no no no no no no. No no no no no! The Pack...where was the rest of the Pack?
He sat up, closing his eyes and carefully seeped out his Magic. It burned, causing the medication numbing the pain to bubble angrily. He ignored it, desperate to find the rest of their Pack. He searched everywhere for their beings. He searched everywhere for their Lights. One by one, he found them. He found them, but...but...
Boyd's Light – out.
Cora's Light – out.
Corey's Light – out.
Erica's Light – out.
Hayden's Light – out.
Isaac's Light – out.
Kira's Light – out.
Liam's Light – out.
Lydia's Light – out.
Scott's Light – out.
Out out out out out out out out. All out. All gone. No Lights. No Lights. All bodies. No Lights. No...
The door to the room opened, nurses coming in and bombarding him with questions. Their voices sounded distorted – like they were speaking from above water. Stiles shook his head, his breathing ragged and rapid. His Pack...Derek's Pack...gone. All gone.
Hands touched him. Voices sounded urgent. Stiles didn't respond. He just sat there, staring at the blankets offered to him. Gone. All gone. His Pack was gone. They were gone...
Suddenly, he unleashed a blood curdling scream, thrashing about like a caged animal. His Pack had been butchered. They were gone. He couldn't feel them. They were all gone. The weight of each extinguished Light clawed at his soul, breaking it and re-piecing it before breaking it again over and over and over and over.
He could feel the hands of the nurses trying to push him back down on the bed, their voices frantic. But all Stiles could do was scream in agony and thrash about. He screamed and screamed and screamed until he started to feel weary. His body began to droop, easily being moved by the nurses back onto the bed. Even though he couldn't scream any longer...he could still weep.
So many sounds and smells. Derek didn't know why they were around him. They weren't familiar. They were foreign. Unwelcomed. He groaned, reaching out blindly for the one familiar thing nearby. The scent of his fiance. It was close.
It was bitter.
He creaked his eyes open, still groaning. The lights were dim, but they still stung his eyes. It made him close them again and whine in his throat.
“Der?”
Derek's heart picked up at the sound of Stiles' voice. What a relief. Stiles was here with him, wherever they were at. Of course he knew that, but there was always something about hearing that voice that put him at ease. He forced his eyes open, hoping to see Stiles right there.
He saw a white ceiling with long lights, instead. He blinked blearily, confused. Where was he? This wasn't his bed. This wasn't his home. He tried to sit up, but his body hissed with protest and he decided to listen to it. Then...he noticed other things. Bloody bandages covered his body. There was something sticking out of his arms. Something was up his nose – felt like tubing.
His heart sunk deeply into his stomach. He was in a hospital. Badly injured. But from what?
“Der?”
He licked his lips, struggling to move his head in the direction of the voice. It felt like centuries before his head managed to turn just enough to see his fiance.
Stiles was...not okay. Something was poking out of his arm. Tubes were coming out of his nose. There were bandages on him, but not as many as there were on Derek. A gauze was on his forehead, looking rather bloody. And his eyes...they were...empty. No life in them. Just vacant...dead. Like the twinkle in them was stolen.
Derek tried to open his mouth, call out to his fiance. His voice failed him. Only came out in a choked breath. And it ached.
“Der...”
Stiles sat up slowly in his bed, whiskey stare watering. His bitter smell grew worse. That's when Derek realized that the bitterness coming from Stiles, the bitterness clouding over the citrus and spices that he usually smelled of, was sadness. Bottomless sadness.
“Lights...there are no Lights...”
The Alpha didn't need any explanation. The memories raced back to him. His Pack had been ambushed. They had been attacked when they had their guard down. So many bullets. So many screams and roars.
He stared at Stiles, silently reaching out to feel the Thread that connected him to all of his Pack. A part of him hoping that Stiles was wrong.
There was nothing...only Stiles' Thread. Only Stiles'.
There were no Threads.
There were no Lights.
Gone. They were all gone.
Unable to contain himself, Derek sobbed heavily. His chest heaved, his head seared with discomfort, and his body bit at him for the slight movements. Gone. All gone. His Betas, the others that weren't Werewolves, his sister...taken from him. He had nothing. He had no one...
Suddenly, there was body beside him, wincing and hissing lowly. He tried to blink away his tears, but they were too immense and continued to blind him. The scent told him who it was, as well as the comforting fingers sweeping at his hair. Despite his own injuries, Stiles had unhooked himself from everything that hindered him in order to be with Derek.
That's right...Derek wasn't alone.
He still had Stiles.
The Emissary pressed a kiss on his forehead, the feeling rather wet. Stiles was crying, too. Mourning their lost family. That fact only made Derek sob heavier, causing burning sensations through his being.
It wasn't long before he heard voices scold Stiles for leaving his bed. But when the voices tried to take Stiles way, place him back in the prison of a bed, Derek whimpered and wailed. He didn't want to be left alone. He wanted the man he loved the most beside him. Didn't want to lose him. Had to keep him close. Because if he wasn't close...
Someone with a kind, yet stern, tone ordered the other voices around. Made them scoot Stiles' bed right against Derek's. Made them give out more medicine to make the physical pain vanish. Shooed them off. The kind and stern tone spoke to them, reeking with sorrow and worry.
Derek didn't hear the words – just the noise. He let Stiles do all the talking. Stiles was always great at talking...even if it got everyone in trouble. It was soothing to listen to the vibrations of the Emissary's voice.
Unfortunately...it didn't lull him to sleep like it usually did.
Instead, the very words that had been said to him kept playing back, making sure the tears never stopped.
There are no Lights. There are no Lights. There are no Lights. There are no Lights.
~+~
“Did you hear about the Hale Pack?”
“Yeah. Rogue Hunters. Tragic.”
“I can't believe anyone, Hunter or otherwise, would want to attack them. They were peaceful. I mean, the Emissary did have a rep, but they were still peaceful! They were quite the advocates for the Supernatural-Human Peace Act, too.”
“That may be why they were attacked.”
“But Hunters were actually excited about the bill's passing!”
“Not all of them, apparently.”
“Poor Alpha Hale and Emissary Stilinski...do you think they are okay?”
“I don't think so. A traumatizing event like that? They might suffer mentally and emotionally for a while. Maybe forever.”
“Do you think they might want retribution?”
“Can't say. But if I were them...I would fight all the armies in the universe to avenge my Pack...”
~+~
“Emissary Stilinski? Are you listening?”
If he were to be honest? No. He had tuned out the therapist ages ago. Weeks ago.
After being released into the custody of Scott's mother Melissa, Stiles and Derek were told to attend grief counseling and therapy sessions. It was a way to prevent the thirst for vengeance, or something like that. No need for the only surviving members of the world's strongest Pack to seek revenge for the death of their fallen kin, after all.
Melissa was tempted to not let them go. Especially with how draining the mass funeral was. But she had been threatened to make sure they attended, or else. She didn't know what the 'or else' meant...but neither Derek nor Stiles blamed her for slapping on a farce grin whenever she dropped them off for their sessions.
Stiles hated going.
The grief counselor was an utter idiot. Tried to force Stiles to experience the Five Stages of Grief in each session. Instead, the Emissary would just stare off over the counselor's shoulder, replaying the dying sounds of his Pack.
The therapist wasn't any better. Kept asking how Stiles felt about things. Made him explain what he saw in ink blot pictures. The...Rorschach or something. Always hummed and jotted things down in his notepad.
Stiles wasn't healing. In fact, if anything...Stiles was growing more and more cross.
At night, he would dream about those faceless Hunters. He would shoot up from sleep...screaming, unable to tell the difference between reality and nightmare. When he was finished with his screams, he would rant and rave about all the things he wished to inflict upon the bastards that took away his new family.
Derek had the same problem. It was also visible that Derek was becoming withdrawn. He glared more than spoke. He would snap and snarl when he became upset. Sometimes, he would burst into uncontrollable fits of anguished sobs if he was alone with Stiles.
Around Melissa, they would both be silent in their guilt. They couldn't even look at her. Despite her assuring them repeatedly that it wasn't their fault, they felt it was. That they had failed to protect everyone...including her son. Yet, she treated them the same as she always did – like a mother. She still called them her boys, giving them hugs and kisses and offering comfort. Sometimes they accepted. Other times...they just wanted to be alone.
“Emissary Stilinski. I need you to answer my question.”
Broken from his thoughts once more, Stiles glowered at the therapist, eyes flashing violet briefly. “I'm sorry. What did you say? I was too busy thinking about how I could be in my house, cuddling my fiance, instead of being here and listening to you drone about shit that I don't care about.”
The therapist sighed, face knitted with discouragement. “You're growing more irritable, Emissary Stilinski.”
“Gee, Web MD, did you figure that out all on your own? I'm impressed.” Stiles sarcastically clapped his hands, his expression blank. “Bravo. So proud of you.”
“Emissary Stilinski...please. This is not a joke. Your mental and emotional state after such a traumatizing event is important. I am here to help you. I am not the enemy here.”
“I don't want help. I just want to be left alone in my grief. I want to find peace with my fiance in my own way.”
“I understand -”
“Do you now?”
“But the government wishes for you to attend mandatory counseling so that retribution does not happen.”
“You do realize it could happen by other hands other than mine or Derek's? From what I have heard, these bastards have been attacking Packs across the country. But nobody really gave a damn till a high profile Pack was massacred! This could've been avoided if the government actually stopped these Rogue Hunters before they came onto our territory!”
The therapist paled, fingers trembling. He swallowed multiple times. Opened his mouth to say things, but didn't muster any words. Stiles crossed his arms, grinning smugly.
“What? Didn't think I'd find that out? Sir...I'm an Emissary. It's my job to find out things that shouldn't be found out. And I have quite the talent for finding out things I'm not supposed to find out. Also for hearing things I shouldn't hear. Perks of being raised under a cop's roof.”
The therapist continued swallowing, the color fading more and more from his face. Finally, he cleared his throat, rising to his feet and held a hand out towards the door. “I think we should conclude our session for the day. Thank you for your time, Emissary Stilinski.”
Stiles stood, his expression going cold and vacant. He said nothing as he turned heel and briskly walked out of the room. Once he was out, he found Derek sitting in one of the waiting room chairs. The Alpha was glaring at a particular spot on the floor, arms folded tightly across his chest. His jaw was clenched shut – the tension there visible from a mile away.
Clearly, Derek had a poor time in his session as well.
Stiles approached, tapping a finger lightly onto his shoulder before gripping it. Immediately, Derek eased and leaned into his arm. Their eyes met, both reflecting aggravation and the ever drowning sadness.
“Melissa called.” muttered Derek. “While you were still in there.”
“Yeah? What did she say, big guy?”
“That we can go back to our house.”
“What's the catch?”
“She has to check in on us.”
“Not too bad. She would've done it anyways.”
“Yeah...”
Stiles leaned in, pressing a kiss in his lover's hair. “You ready to go back there? Or do you want to stay at the Privacy Loft for a while?”
“Privacy Loft.”
No surprise. It would be too soon to go back to the empty house. Too painful with all the lingering scents of their fallen Pack. It was already torture enough smelling Scott's scent throughout Melissa's home. Even though she did try to mask it for the sensitive wolf nose.
“Do we want to do what we talked about last night?”
No response. Not verbally, anyway.
Derek got out of the chair, taking Stiles' hand from off his shoulder. He wrapped it around his waste, eyes back to the floor, and tugged him forward. They left the waiting room in silence, making their way to the parking garage. They continued in silence till they reached the elevator. Once the doors closed...Derek met Stiles' gaze.
And it told him yes.
The Emissary nodded, grinning darkly. “Awesome. We'll start tomorrow. Sound good, big guy?”
~+~
Derek woke to the sheets barely hanging around his hips. Frankly, he missed that feeling. Had been some time since he had woken like this. Lately, either he would be waking screaming and kicking, or ready to panic if Stiles wasn't there. Awaking to the sheets like this was...oddly comforting.
As if nothing had changed...
There was the smell of waffles and chocolate filling the air of the Private Loft, meaning that Stiles was once again cooking. He had been doing that a lot since...
The Alpha rolled onto his back, rubbing at his eyes. Strange...he felt better than he had in days. Maybe it was because he was in a place only saturated in the scent of Stiles and himself. There were no other scents intermingled here. Just them. And they only made it stronger last night.
“Now that's something I haven't seen in a while.”
He removed his hands from his eyes, finding Stiles hovering above him with a plate of waffles. There was a genuine smile on his lips, something Derek hadn't seen in what felt like eternity. His own smile grew and he sat up, waiting for a kiss. Stiles obliged, leaning in and kissed him softly, briefly.
“I missed you...” Stiles whispered, gliding in beside him.
Derek ran his nose across his fiance's throat, inhaling citrus and spices. “You, too.”
“It'll be a while before we see each other again. It'll be worth it, though. Definitely worth it.”
“We'll live.”
“I dunno. Didn't realize how much I craved you until last night.” Stiles set the plate down between them, handing over a fork. “It was therapeutic. Much more than our mandatory sessions have been. Those are just frustrating.”
Derek nodded, poking at the waffles. Drenched in syrup, caked in peanut butter, dotted with far too many chocolate chips. Yep. Definitely a Stiles made breakfast. Good thing Derek had grown to enjoy them this way, or else he would've bitched about the preparation.
“I don't understand why we aren't allowed to be left alone. I mean...plenty of Packs have sought vengeance before. Then again, not many of them are...or...were...as powerful as us. But still! They should've just left us alone. We're obviously not making progress in grief counseling or therapy. Last night...when we got here...when we fell into old habits...now sharing a plate of waffles in bed while being either fully naked or half naked...this...this is the best we've been since...you know...”
He did. And this had been the most Stiles had spoken since the massacre. Stiles used to ramble like this all the time. Derek had missed it...
“Allison said she would be here at four. It's noon now. So, let's eat, do whatever we wanna get out of our system, then we better shower and dress. Don't think she would want to catch us in the middle of mischief. Not when she's here to give us a lead towards one of them.”
“Can we trust her?”
Sensing the hesitation, Stiles reached out with a finger, poking the Werewolf's nose playfully. “She may be an Argent...but she is a strong advocate for the Supernatural-Human Peace Act. Was Lyd's best friend outside of the Pack. She's good people.”
“She's selling out a fellow Hunter.”
His lover's face grew dark, twisted. A mirror of the decay inside. “Rogue Hunter. To her...they are as good as dead. All for us to play with.”
There wasn't much talk about Allison's visit after that. They ate their pile of waffles, reminiscing about their lost Pack. It wasn't said with grief like it usually was during counseling and therapy. It was said with joy and weak laughter. Broken fondness.
However, it slowly became mind and soul numbing. They fell silent, poking at their empty plate. Derek curled into himself, unable to look at Stiles.
While Derek had become withdrawn, quick to snap, glared instead of smiled...Stiles had grown gaunt, his stare haunted and murderous. He would try to hide it. Try to pretend. Sometimes, he would let everyone see. Wanting the world to witness his rage.
“What are you thinking about in that broody head of yours?”
And yet...there were times when the old Stiles would flicker through the darkness.
Derek's lips twitched, not quite reaching a smile. He set the plate on the nightstand, inching closer to Stiles. “You.”
“Oh? Good things, I hope. It would hurt my feelings if you were thinking shit of me.”
“I'm always thinking shit of you.”
Stiles threw his head back, laughing with his whole body. Like he used to.
And Derek beamed with pride. Like he used to.
They fell back into old habits once again. Shared a moment of blissful passion. Once it was over, both of them ensnared their limbs together, pensive and desperate to touch whatever skin their hands could find. They laid there for some time in the static quiet – finding peace in it all. After a while, Stiles managed to lift them both out of bed and lead them to the shower.
The warm water cascaded down their bodies, which would normally lead to more shenanigans. Maybe next time. Right now...they were cleaning each other, faint grins and soft laughs vibrating off the walls. Stiles did most of the talking, soothing Derek. What he was soothing the Alpha from was unknown, but there were certainly no complaints.
There was a knock at the front door as they began dressing.
Stiles offered to answer it, still only in a shirt far too large for his body. Looked like a dress, if Derek was to be honest. But it was gorgeous. Derek's favorite. Especially if that was all Stiles was wearing.
(Thankfully, for the person at the door, Stiles had the decency to put on boxers, too.)
Derek turned his back on the door, slipping on the cozy maroon sweater with thumbholes that he was given for his birthday last year. By Stiles, of course. Man always wanted to give Derek clothes that made him look like 'a fluffy puppy' rather than a 'scary Alpha who could crush people with his thighs'.
“Ally!”
The chipper tone was new. Made Derek flinch a little. He turned around, seeing Stiles hug a young woman with brunette ringlets in a grayish handkerchief dress and dirtied combat boots. She was smiling sadly, dimples barely visible. She smelled of roses and misplaced guilt. Not a trace of Wolfsbane on her person. Not even a weapon. Odd. Derek had never figured Allison Argent to be this reckless and comfortable in the presence of an Alpha and a powerful Magic Holder...
“How are you guys?” she asked gently, eyes now on Derek as she entered further into the loft.
Stiles shrugged, sliding the door closed behind her. “As good as we can be, I guess. Which means not good at all.”
“Well...you seem good enough to be meandering around without pants.”
“Home is where the pants aren't. And where sexy times ensue.”
“...I didn't need to know that, Stiles.”
“Hey! You made a comment about the pants!”
Allison rolled her eyes, head ducked as she grinned. Must've been refreshing for her to see Stiles showing glimpses of his old self. Certainly was for Derek.
The young Hunter approached Derek, absent of wariness. Instead, she pulled him into a surprising hug and held him there with equally surprising strength. Derek didn't fight it. He wrapped his arms around her awkwardly, accepting the hug. It was the one thing his therapist was right about: making himself touch starved would only make things worse.
Allison released him, now serious instead of empathetic and familiar. She took refuge on the couch, setting her bag beside her. “First things first...you remember the faces of the Rogue Hunters that attacked you?”
“Vaguely.” replied Stiles, walking across the loft to the dresser.
Derek folded his arms across his chest, holding himself together. “Yes. I remember them.”
Allison nodded, opening her bag and rummaging inside. “Good. Then the guy I was able to find first is who you need to identify. Hopefully I'm right and that I didn't waste an entire night, getting zero sleep, in tracking him down. And don't you dare scold me for not sleeping, Stiles. You have no room to talk.”
Stiles nearly dropped the pants he had in his hands, seemingly offended. “I wasn't going to!”
A tick. A lie. Derek sucked on his teeth, fighting back a smirk. Unfortunately, his fiance knew how to read him like a book and glared playfully.
“Derek...if you would?”
He made his way over, standing in front of the coffee table. He tightened the fold of his arms, feeling himself ready to break apart. His heart raced when she pulled out a photo from her bag and set in on the table. He had to glance at it for merely a second before his eyes flashed red and the hairs on the back of his neck bristled.
A hand squeezing the back of his neck eased him. He leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed. Calming sensations seeped into his veins. He felt as if he was on cloud nine. The joys of having his Emissary as his future husband.
“You recognize him.” came Stiles' voice, his tone saturated in coldness.
He nodded, licking his chapped lips. “Yes.”
“Who?”
“Shot Cora between the eyes.”
“Then I guess he will receive extra special treatment.”
“Yes...”
Stiles stroked his neck with a thumb, still sending calm sensations through his body. “What information do you have on this guy, Al?”
“After the massacre of your Pack, this guy and everyone else in his group scattered. Guess they were afraid of you coming after them. Funny how they would be afraid of you instead of everyone else they have hurt.”
“I do have a rep, Al. And I'm the Alpha's mate. They should be afraid of us.”
“Well, they are. And this guy? My sources say he is at the Motel Capri. That's only a few hours away. I'm guessing he was counting on the thin leash around you guys. If you tell your counselors and therapists that you want to go on a road trip for cleansing purposes, no one will bat an eye. Okay, they will bat a little bit, but they'll probably think that you have no idea who attacked you or where to find them. Everyone is counting on it. Especially because these guys are elusive. At least to the authorities. For us in the Hunter organizations, you know, the ones that follow the Code, we know who they are and how to find them.”
“So why aren't any of you going after them?”
“It was discussed. Then, it was decided that our hands would be wiped clean of this. That if you asked, we'll help. This is your war. Plus you'll be cleaning up the mess for us. Hunting one of our own that has gone Rogue is like a political cesspool.”
“Ah. We're doing the work for you...as well as playing our own game.”
“Exactly.”
Derek finally opened his eyes, the calming sensations gradually losing effect. He stared at Allison, hunger residing there. He wanted this person. He wanted them to pay. He wanted their Light off.
“Motel Capri?” he growled.
Allison nodded regally, slipping the picture closer to him on the table. “The staff won't bother you there, most likely. The guests, if any, won't either. Hopefully.”
“Of course they won't.” snorted Stiles. “Instead of leaving mints on your pillow, each room has newspaper clippings of the deaths that happened in that specific room. And the staff loves reporting a new death.”
Derek gripped his Emissary's leg, claws beginning to protrude. “Then we're checking in. Tonight.”
~+~
“Did you hear about Alpha Hale and Emissary Stilinski?!”
“No? What happened? Did those Rogue Hunters try to kill them again?”
“No! They're going on vacation!”
“That's good, isn't it?”
“It goes against what they were told to do! They have mandatory sessions of grief counseling and therapy they have to attend given to them by the government. They are breaking the rules!”
“Can you blame them? I'm sure they want to get away. Breathe new air. It makes sense. This is where their Pack lived and died. It's probably painful for them to be here.”
“Still...don't you think it's weird? Weeks have passed since the Hale Pack Massacre, the authorities haven't found any of those Rogue Hunters, and now they are going on a road trip. Maybe they are going to hunt down those Hunters?”
“What? No! Alpha Hale is far too respectful to do that! Emissary Stilinski...I've heard some things about him...so I think maybe he would do it. But that would ruin his relationship with Alpha Hale! And he wouldn't do anything to ruin that...would he?”
~+~
It was nearly pitch black when they pulled into the Motel Capri. Not even the pitiful neon light sign and lights over the doors scratched the surface of the night.
Derek parked right next to a fancy SUV, the door riddled with scratches and dents. A smashed bullet hung from the rear view mirror, almost as if to taunt anyone that supported the Supernatural populace. Stiles sneered at it, sliding his hood over his head. Allison hadn't been kidding about this bastard being cocky. Anyone who dared to hang a smashed bullet, a bullet that may have caused the death or injury of an innocent person, needed their balls crushed.
Fortunately, that could be arranged.
“I'll check in. You unload.” Derek ordered, opening his door.
“Sure thing, big guy.”
Derek left him alone, going for the lobby. Stiles slinked out of the Jeep (yes, he allowed Derek to drive his Jeep, but only if he could drive to the next place), scanning the area. Empty. Only a few Lights here: his own, Derek's, the two staff members, and the Rogue Hunter. Should be easy for them to get a room right next door. Not a problem at all.
The cards were in their favor.
Stiles took out their shared duffle bag, slinging it over his shoulder. It was nice that they really weren't packing heavily. No real need. Not yet, anyway. Because, well, they weren't just on a cross-country road trip for revenge. They actually wanted a smidgen of a vacation. Eventually.
He leaned on the hood of his Jeep, waiting for Derek to come back with the key. All the while...he stared blankly at the door of the Rogue Hunter's room. Allison's connections said his room was number B15, bottom floor of the creepy place. Her connections were never wrong. And besides, Stiles could feel his tainted Light in B15.
The joys of being an Emissary of his caliber. Knowing Lights just from a photograph.
Derek returned shortly after, radiating with discomfort. He was never a huge people person. People outside of the Pack made him anxious. People in the Pack made him anxious. People just made him anxious. However, with the rumors about how freaky the staff were, it probably didn't help with the anxiety at all.
“I'll deal with them when we check out in the morning.” promised Stiles, taking Derek's hand and kissing it.
The Alpha snorted, flipping their hands around till they were intertwined. “You'll deal with the next one, too.”
“Fair enough.”
They went into their room, dropping the duffle bag on the floor and then sat down on the bed. According to Allison's sources, the prick would start playing music far too loudly at a certain time. That would be the time to strike. When all noise would be drowned out.
“Four hours.” Derek growled, glaring at the room clock as if it would make time go faster.
“Patience, big guy. We'll get him.”
“I want him now.”
“I do, too. But we really need to drown out his screams. He'll be doing a lot of screaming. Like, a lot. I mean, I know Hunters are trained on some next level KGB shit, but nobody, and I mean nobody, can hold back screams of some sort when bones are broken.”
Derek wrinkled his nose into a snarl, impatient as always.
“I know, big guy, I know. He will get what's coming to him. I promise. But we have to be patient. And I know, I am the last person to lecture you on patience, but -”
Suddenly, music shook the walls. Loud, obnoxious, terrible music.
They both perked, lips parted and eyes rounded in shock. The routine broke. The routine had changed.
The cards were in their favor.
Nothing was said. They both bolted out the door, skin itching with excitement. They had planned their attack out during the drive. Now they'll get to do it. The first step in destroying those that destroyed them.
“Remember...patience.” Stiles reminded tenderly, kissing his lover's temple.
Derek nodded, flattening himself against the wall where the door would open to hide him from the target. Stiles lowered his head, making sure that his face was hidden well beneath his hood. He started to fidget, an act he practiced on the way there to the point where Derek couldn't tell that he was lying.
If he could fool a Werewolf...he sure as hell was going to fool this cocky bastard.
He knocked on the door, portraying meek agitation. Not to his surprise, there was no answer. Derek shook his head, indicating that the man inside didn't hear. Stiles knocked again, this time with more force. Again, nothing. Now the agitation was real. He pounded heavily on the door over and over and over – using a little of his Magic to amplify the sound.
Finally, the door opened.
Stiles kept his head down as much as he could, hiding his face. From the corner of his eye, he could see Derek's lips curled back in primal rage, fangs present and eyes glowing red. The Alpha wanted to attack. Wanted to rip this man's throat out. But there was a plan. A plan his Emissary made. Loyal to a fault...he wasn't going to move till Stiles did.
Now...if only the itch in Stiles' skin would settle...
“Wha do ya wan?”
The guy reeked of booze. Not the good kind, either. The cheap kind. It was nauseating. Took everything in Stiles' power to not only control the itch in his skin and keep up his act, but now to not throw up from the stench. He always felt awful when it came to a Werewolf's sensitive nose. This time was no exception.
“Look man...I just got in. I want to get some sleep. C-c-could you please turn down the music?” whined the Emissary, fidgeting heavily.
The guy scoffed, his booze breath nearly knocking Stiles' ass out. “Seriously? Ya tweakin'? Fuck ya.”
“C'mon, man. I'm tired. I drove for hours. I just want sleep.”
“Then sleep wit the music on! It isn' goin' nowhere!”
“Please! Just turn it down a dial! That's all I ask!”
When he was spat on...he noticed Derek tense. Noticed those blistering reds wild with relentless fury. Noticed that claws had popped out. He was ready to defend his fiance. Which was cute and all...but it wasn't time yet.
“Fuck off, ya tweaker!”
With a sigh, Stiles wiped the spit that hit is face off and straightened his posture. The fidgeting was gone. The act was up. But he still couldn't unleash a pissed off Werewolf. No...he had to make this shithead realize who he was dealing with first.
“Is this how you numb yourself? Make yourself feel like you were in the right? Or is this how you celebrate? How you celebrate the fact that you destroyed the lives of several Packs across the country? How you justify the fact that you and your buddies massacred people that only wanted to live beside people they love, because you are so blinded by your hate of living beings different than you?”
“The fuck're ya talkin' 'bout?”
Stiles raised his head, all his rage, his sadness, his disgust...everything he was feeling was wrapped into one ice cold, soul piercing, glowing violet stare. And that's when the Rogue Hunter knew. When the cockiness bled into pale fear.
“Remember me?”
The guy started to back up, likely trying to get to a weapon or slam the door. That's when Stiles stepped aside, smirking. It was funny to see how people thought they could outrun any Supernatural being. Especially an infuriated Werewolf.
Derek shot into the room at break neck speeds, roaring. He tackled the target to the floor and flipped him easily onto his stomach. As the guy tried to wriggle out from beneath a man made out of nothing but muscle, Stiles slipped inside.
Once that door was closed and locked...
Screams were drowned out by the blaring music. Derek got off the guy, snarling and pacing like a feral animal. The guy was still screaming. Was to be expected. Both of his arms just had bones snapped clean in two by a Werewolf on a war path. And it was only about to get worse.
Stiles meandered around the room for a bit, finding every weapon he could and made sure they were out for viewing pleasure. Then, as Derek threw the Rogue Hunter onto the bed, growling viciously and hovering over him with malice, Stiles walked over to the iPod dock.
“Let's see if you have anything good on here.”
“I thought you were peaceful!” the man shouted at Derek as his legs were being pinned down. “You don't believe in revenge! You look down on it! You -”
There was a sickening pop that could barely be heard over the shit music. Stiles winced, knowing that Derek more than likely tore out this guy's shoulder out of the socket. Adding to the broken arms.
“You stole my Pack from me! From us!” roared Derek with such ferocity that Stiles was starting to feel...terrified. “You and your men murdered the family we built after our original ones were taken from us! You stole them! So don't you dare tell me what I believe in! Because what I believe in now is seeing you beg for the mercy you refused to show our family!”
Another pop. Other shoulder out. Stiles couldn't even hear the screams anymore. Not over the shit music. Not over Derek's roars.
He turned off the music, unable to listen to it anymore as he searched the iPod for something else. Immediately, there was the sound of muffled screams. Sounds of Derek hissing and shushing the man. Sounds of a weak struggle. Not much one could do with broken arms and popped out shoulders.
“Ooh! Babe! Mr. No Taste has The Eagles on here!” Stiles cried out, actually excited.
He heard his fiance chuckle...and the Hunter scream into the hand.
“Oh! Ohhh! Hotel California! Classic! I think I'll put this bad boy on. Have some tasteful tunes while we have some quality time together. Babe, can you put the piece of wood between his feet?”
“What piece of wood?”
“Oh shoot! I forgot to tell you about it. Gaaaah! That's okay. I got this.”
He set the iPod back on the dock, pressing play on the song. He swayed to the chords, a light smile across his lips. His fingers danced to the tune...partly. The other part was to summon a wood block from seemingly out of thin air. He pressed it between the ankles of the Rogue Hunter, which were pinned down by one of Derek's hands, the other hand on the chest. The music drowned out the man's screams and curses. For the most part.
“Come on!” Stiles shouted over the music, clapping the guy's leg. “Show a little spirit! Have some fun! I mean, after all, you had a jolly ol' time putting a bullet between dear Cora’s eyes!”
The Emissary's fingers danced again to the tune, a baseball bat appearing to grow and fall out of his palm. The Rogue Hunter was screaming louder now, almost drowning out the lyrics. Which, no. No one does that to Hotel California.
Stiles took off one of the man's shoes, followed by the sock. Then, he shoved the sock into the mouth, smirking at the disgusted expression that followed.
“And I was thinking to myself,” he began to sing along, swaying his shoulders. “This could be Heaven or this could be Hell.”
He poked their target's nose, his smirk growing sinister before he swayed his hips while walking away. “Then she lit up a candle...and she showed me the waaaay.”
The guy screamed through his gag. And, well, tried to fight against a Werewolf pinning him down. Derek snapped, his fangs dripping with saliva. Like a rabid dog, in a way. No matter. Stiles didn't have time to worry about it. He had a baseball bat to use.
“There were voices down the corridor, I thought I heard them saaaay...”
Right foot connected with the metal bat with a sickening crack as Stiles and Glenn Frey belted, “WELCOME TO THE HOTEL CALIFORNIA!”
The Rogue Hunter screamed, body arching upwards as much as Derek would allow him.
“Such a lovely place...such a lovely place.” Stiles twirled the bat around, making this all the more dramatic than needed. He leaned in, patting the still intact left foot. “Such a lovely face...”
There was a lot of thrashing about as Stiles raised the bat again, a wicked gleam enveloping his being.
“Plenty of room in the Hotel California!”
WHACK!
CRACK!
Muffled screams.
The Emissary waltzed up to the guy's face, patting it very gently with the tip of the bat. All manically playful.
“Any time of year...any time of year...”
His expression became ice cold, raising the bat above his head. His eyes shown a brilliant violet, flecks of blood garnet jagging out. Markings similar to several Litchenburg figures crawled up from under the collar of his hood. They slithered rapidly to beneath his hairline, making crinkling noises as they glimmered red. Like his Alpha's eyes.
“You can find it here...”
And the bat came down.
~+~
“A view of the ocean?! You spoil me, big guy!”
Derek rolled his eyes, trying his darnedest not to grin. His fiance had always wanted to go to Pismo Beach. Always. What were the chances that on their cross-country revenge trip that two of the Rogue Hunters would just so happen to be there? Very unlikely. But it happened at the very last minute, according to Allison's sources
The cards were, once again, in their favor.
But first...to break in this hotel room.
Derek closed the door behind them, watching his mate stand on the balcony and giggling out of sheer joy. It was as if they weren't on a bloody crusade for a brief moment. As if they were on their honeymoon, light and airy after a miraculous wedding.
With their Pack at their side...
He sighed, approaching his fiance from behind and wrapping his arms around him. He rested his forehead on Stiles' shoulder, breathing him and the ocean air in. It was relaxing. Perfection in every way. A momentary bliss in their fury.
“I love you, Derek...” came Stiles' voice in all its brokeness. “I don't think I've told you that enough. Which sucks, 'cause you deserve to hear it every hour of every single day.”
“That's a little unrealistic, Stiles.”
“So? You still deserve it.” He took one of Derek's hands, pressing it to his lips. “I love you so much, Derek. You have no idea.”
The Alpha chuckled, giving his lover a teasing nibble at the neck. “I think I have some idea.” He burrowed his face into the small mark he made, exhaling shakily. “Love you, too...”
They remained on the balcony for some time, admiring the view. Stiles did all the talking...like he always did. Like he had before. It was nostalgic in a way. Therapeutic, too. And as Stiles rambled on and on about the view, the smells, and on all the dogs he caught glimpses of, Derek scented him. Been far too long since he had properly done that.
They went out to dinner as night fell, enjoying a restaurant with an outdoor space to eat and continue to smell the ocean air. Stiles chatted it up, making a few acquaintances with the surrounding tables. (Mostly so he could steal the dogs and cuddle them for a bit.) Derek withdrew himself except for when he was directly spoken to. Speaking was never his thing. That was always Stiles' department. But now it was harder for the Alpha to really want to speak. Fortunately, most people were fine with nods and grunts from him. Especially with Stiles honing their attention onto him instead.
After dinner, they took a walk on the beach, holding hands and saying nothing. There was no need. They already knew what words were hanging on their tongues. Words they spoke when they returned to the hotel room and entangled their limbs together.
As the sun rose on the next day, Derek woke with a restless growl. He had agreed to have a 'play day', as Stiles called it, when they arrived. Just to feel something outside of rage. But that had passed. They had their day to relax and be happy. Now...now it was time to swallow themselves with darkness. Now it was time to -
“Could you not growl when you wake up, Mr. Grump?”
He glowered at his Emissary, nostrils flaring. The pale man beside him rolled his eyes, swatting at his chest without a care.
“Lemme take a piss. Then we will find them. Shouldn't be too hard. They were at that place we ate at last night. They know we're here. They'll follow us till they think they have us cornered. No fear. All cockiness. Which is to be expected, since they don't know about their little buddy at the Capri.”
He bolted upright, snarling and snapping his jaws. The Rogue Hunters were near them last night?! Why didn't Stiles say anything?! Why didn't they do anything to them?! Why didn't he smell them?!
Stiles reacted quickly, getting onto his knees and grabbing at Derek's face tightly. His eyes began to glow, boring into the wolf's soul as if it were mere child's play. Derek's stare glowed back, infuriated that his Emissary, the one person that was supposed to help protect him and anyone else in the Pack, refused to share this highly important information.
“Hey! Knock it off! I didn't want to ruin yesterday! Besides...this is all going according to plan. I promise. You trust me, yeah?”
The question was reminiscent to their first meeting. When they were assigned to each other by the Emissary Counsel and Derek's mother as children. Derek didn't trust him in the slightest. He was an outsider, and outsiders from the Pack were sketchy. That's what his uncle always told him.
However, Stiles had proven his loyalty time after time. Always had. Always would.
He nodded, slumping into his fiance's hold. Of course Stiles had a plan. Why wouldn't he? Maybe Derek was too itchy for retribution. The thought was...disturbing...
“We'll get them all. I promise. We just have to be patient. And I swear to you...you'll get these two today. They'll be all yours. You said they were the ones that shot you and me, yeah? When Ally sent the pics? You can get them all you want. But we're not in the middle of nowhere this time. We have to be careful. Just trust me. Okay?”
He nodded, burying his head into his fiance's throat and inhaling.
“Good. Now...can I please go pee? Before I mark my territory?”
That earned him a shove off the bed. A playful one. A full forced one would break something. Which was not ideal in any way.
Stiles still whined about it and faked a limp to emphasize his over dramatic point.
After all the morning businesses were done and over with, they left the 'safety' of their hotel room. It was discussed that they were to find a secluded place to take down their targets. Or at least somewhere that Stiles could open The Void and allow Derek to shred in peace. Stiles drove them around, both searching for an ideal spot and enjoying the view.
“Look at the ocean! It's so blue! Sure, not clear like in some tropical areas, but still! Doesn't look as gross as some of the California ocean does.”
Derek hummed, watching him fondly.
“Also! We're being followed by our little friends. Which, perfect. For all they know, we're just Jeep sight-seeing. Or trying to find a place to fulfill your outdoor sex kink.”
“I don't have an outdoor sex kink.”
“Oh, I know. But they don't. The perks of having a Hunter friend who tells you about all the misconceptions they have about you guys.” Stiles turned down a street that was mostly deserted, smirking. “But you do have a breeding kink.”
“Which you like.”
“Awww! Is my wolfy blushing?”
“Shut up. I need to -”
“Get in the zone. I know. I think we're getting close to a pretty ideal spot. Soon, Derek. Soon.”
The wolf nodded, flexing his hands in and out to bring out the claws more slowly. Brought out a sting that vibrated through his body. Helped with the rising, bubbling anger. He rumbled in his throat, fangs starting to pop. He was ready. Impatiently so. He wanted to make them pay for laying a finger on his fiance. For deciding that his Pack, anyone's Pack, wasn't deserving of life and worth more dead.
This was for his fallen Pack.
For all the Packs attacked by these monsters.
The Jeep came to a sudden stop, making Derek growl threateningly. Stiles shushed him, putting the Jeep in park and threw himself out the door. He reeked with intense disdain. He reeked with electricity as well.
Oh...he was bringing out the Spark within. He...never did that. Not unless...
Derek nearly tore off the door, hitting the ground in mid shift. He snarled and snapped his forming muzzle, the fur he did have bristling. From the corner of his eye, he saw Stiles shoot a ball of electricity at the car that was following them. And he could see why. One had a weapon with a silencer out. By the smell, it had been fired. That's when it clicked that Stiles' sudden stop and unrivaled malice was due to them firing at the Jeep.
His mother's Jeep.
The shouts of fright coming from the stalking vehicle fueled Derek's need to shred them to bits. He was down on all fours and making all sorts of threatening sounds by the time Stiles started spewing rapid fire incantations. Runes appeared around the car, glowing a velvet black. Ah...he was going to throw the entire car into The Void. Interesting. Make it more fun for Derek to rip them out and turn them into mince meat.
The men shrieked from their seats as they felt the burn entering The Void brought. As well as watching their weapons float around them, slashing and smacking them violently, before they melted into molten materials and fell onto their laps. The driver thrashed about, pounding on the door he knew he couldn't use. The passenger started to kick at the front window, apparently at the point where he didn't care about being electrocuted to death.
Derek felt the runes crawl up under his belly, making him shudder in unison with his mate, who was covered in the runes. So...they were both going? Guess Stiles wanted to watch, now that they had tried to shoot at them and instead likely hit the Jeep.
One shudder, two shudder, three shudder – black.
He howled his throat raw. Howled till they entered the screeching winds of The Void.
The best way to describe this place was that it reminded him of The Upside-down. An inverted and sickly version of the world. Stiles would say it was more Silent Hill-esque. But, no matter how it was described, The Void was a place no one wanted to be in. Devoid of life, of light, of cheer, of warmth. Hence its name – The Void.
“Welcome to The Void.” Stiles' voice boomed in a sinister echo. “I hope you'll enjoy your stay for however brief it will be. Because once I stop making your car a conduit for lightning...you will become the hunted. You destroyed our Pack. Our family. You had no fear then. I hope the fear of the goddess will be instilled into you when you feel the mighty wrath of an Alpha who lost everything.”
To emphasize the point of the speech, Derek unleashed the deepest, menacing, bone chilling, ground vibrating growl he could muster. He could smell the panic. The disbelief. The disdain for having the rug pulled right from under their feet. Good. Continue to smell like that. He was going to eat that up, and then some.
“I just have one question for you...” The Emissary flicked his hands like they were water, dropping his voice into a mischievous whisper. “How fast can you run?”
The electricity dropped.
The game was afoot.
Derek bolted, growling and snarling, saliva flying everywhere. The passenger managed to escape from the vehicle, making a made dash away with a limp from the burns of the molten remains of the weapons. The driver wasn't so fortunate. He struggled with his seatbelt, stumbled over something. He was still in the process of getting out of his seat when Derek threw himself on top of him, pinning him against the gearshift.
The man beneath him screamed and attempted to fight back. It only further brought the inner wild rage within out. His mind blanked as he tore into the bastard that had shot his beloved. He could hear the rips of flesh – smell the iron of blood. But that was it. That was all that was clear to him.
He only stopped when the movement of the body ceased. When the frantic heart no longer had a beat.
Derek licked his maw, hopping out of the car and immediately went on the prowl. His other prey wasn't too far away. Not like there was anywhere to go in this bleak landscape. However, with how fast the man had ran...the thrill of the hunt was drumming underneath his paws.
He paced, trying to catch a scent. He was huffing and snorting with agitation, wanting to find him now.
“Listen for him, big bad. Listen for his erratic heart.”
Derek's chest rumbled his agreement. He padded forward, straining his ears to hear over the winds. It was one thing to hear and smell perfectly when the being was right there in an enclosed space. In a more open environment...it proved difficult. Irritating.
At least for a minute.
The thrum of terror flooded his ears. It boiled his blood and he howled as loud as he could with a raw throat for his mate. Let him know that he found what he was looking for. Let the prey know that time was up.
All he heard next, between the overpowering winds, was the sweet sound of broken cries of horror.
~+~
“Did you hear about those bodies appearing across the country?”
“The ones belonging to Rogue Hunters? Yeah.”
“It's...insane. They are just...piling.”
“And the suspects? There are too many. These guys attacked and killed so many Packs, so many others in the Supernatural community. It could literally be anyone.”
“I heard that, briefly, they thought that Alpha Hale and Emissary Stilinski were the prime suspects.”
“What?! Them?! How could anyone think that?!”
“Well...they were seen in every city where these bodies showed up in.”
“Oh my god...”
“There was no proof, so they were let go. They still are suspects but...they can't do anything.”
“Even if they did do it and they were punished, do you realize the amount of riots there would be? And there is no way they could track down all these people. They would've had to have some help. Which means there are Hunters that are helping whoever is doing this.”
“It's all sticky and borderline political, if you ask me. But...I'm also glad that these guys are no longer going to attack anyone else. Because what if they went after sympathizers next? What if Supernaturals stopped being enough?”
“Somewhat gray, isn't it?”
“Yeah. Even though...”
“Even though what?”
“Well...even though that the bodies have been...beyond overkilled. Whoever is responsible is pissed off. Dangerously pissed off. Hopefully they will be done after the last Rogue Hunter is gone...or else we'll have a bigger problem on our hands...”
